Denizen of the Dogwatch
by Glaceregina
Summary: Harry is not all Gryffindor nobility, nor is he entirely Slytherin shrewdness. He is something far darker, beyond the childish squabbles of Hogwarts. He is of the Underworld.
1. Chapter 1:Unique

**Denizen of the Dogwatch**

_**All HP references belong to J.K.Rowling. Everything else is a**__** product of my struggling attempts to convince fandom that my stories are worth reading and reviewing (hint!).**_

AN: This is the first story I have ever written that was not humor based. Any comments (hint hint!) I get for it, good or bad will be greatly appreciated and taken into account.

Summary: Harry is not all Gryffindor nobility, nor is he entirely Slytherin shrewdness. He is something far darker, beyond the childish squabbles of Hogwarts. He is of the Underworld.

**Prologue**

He stood in front of the mirror for the first time in a few weeks. It wasn't his mirror, after all, _freaks_ like him didn't deserve such luxuries. No, once again, the Dursleys had left him alone with barely a shrill "Don't destroy anything, Boy," as they walked out the door. And for perhaps the first time in his life, he actually studied his reflection, looking past his father's hair, his mother's eyes. Looking past his jagged scar.

_See!__ abased in dust and mire _

Working for the Dursleys had certainly made its mark on him, shown in his smudged glasses, hand-me-down old rags, callused fingers and raven hair that had a blackness beyond mere hair colour. His limbs bore supple, sinewy muscles that spoke years of hard labor and his skin was harsh and tanned. Compared to all the occupants of Privet Drive, compared to their pale complexions, their pudgy bodies, their common facial features and obsessive cleanliness, he looked as though he had come from a another world.

_Scorched by agonizing fire,_

Sometimes, as he worked, his eyes would dart around the garden, his ears would sharpen, distinguishing each and every sound he heard, a skill learnt from long ago, from a need to sate his hunger as his captors slept. Slowly, sensing that he was alone, his hands would weave subtle patterns in the dirt, and he would watch with simple pleasure as his plant grew brighter, livelier. Aunt Petunia would never know exactly what it was that made her garden the pride of the whole of Surrey. That simple happiness, that pure wonder at this power that he had, however, had slowly vanished as he was introduced to the greater wonders of Hogwarts. He had stopped his 'plant magic' altogether when every time he thought about his precious garden, a sharp, searing, spike of pain would lash out across his forehead. It would _burn_ for hours after.

_I in torture go my way,_

Oh yes, Hogwarts, the second place he had thought of truly as home. Hogwarts, the place where he had made his first friends. Hogwarts, the place he had learned about his magic, learned that he was not a freak. Hogwarts, the place he had discovered the legacies of his parents. Hogwarts, where he thrice encountered his arch nemesis, Lord Voldemort. Hogwarts, through which he lost his godfather. Hogwarts, where he learned of the prophecy.

_Born as the seventh month dies_…What if he was premature? What if his parents had never switched keepers? What if Peter had remained loyal to the Marauders? What if-oh for Merlin's sake- what if Voldemort's mother had used bloody birth control? These thought's plagued him, taunted him in his waking moments, and in his sleep.

_Nearing Doom's destructive day__…_

So he was destined to kill Voldemort. So he was destined to be the all conquering hero, the saviour of all wizarding kind. Well, sometimes destiny really didn't know what destiny was talking about. To be brutally honest with himself, he truly did not believe that he would live to see beyond this so called war with Voldemort. He had seen Voldemort in battle, seen the power he wielded on his followers. _Tom Riddle was the most brilliant student to ever grace Hogwarts_ it was said. _Lord Voldemort did great things, _it was said, _terrible, but great_. Yes, he had a few…_talents_, but how could he ever be an equal to this force? He looked in the mirror and saw himself, a desperate, burdened being, with shadowed eyes, collapsed shoulders and clenched fists. He saw hollows in his cheeks, slightly grayed skin tinting his old tan, even a small dash of silver on the crown of his head.

And he was only sixteen

**Chapter One****: Unique**

His feet hit the ground in a steady, silent rhythm. His ears, ever listening, detected the smallest of sounds, assessing them and dismissing them as they came and went. His jaded eyes were useless here in the thickness of midnight, he kept them open only to not give away the acuteness of his ears to any observers, whether he detected them or not. He held the strong belief that no matter how good you were, there was always someone better. And that someone was usually connected to you in some way, if only to eliminate competition. Yes, he was paranoid, but he was also alive.

His eyes narrowed slightly. He sensed men ahead, hiding behind a few scuffed rubbish cans along the dank alleyway. He felt a rush through his veins; anticipation of a fight. Studying the small patches of light on the ground he recognized that he really didn't have time for a fight. Reluctantly, he darted in to a short-cut, away from the ambush. _Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast._

Coming to a halt, he softly traced the gothic design on the old, beat-up door. "Sell any malachite?" he whispered, his voice sharp and accented "lookin' for a razor-sharp piece" Quickly he back stepped and fell into the aperture that opened on the opposite wall. As the darkness rushed past and lightly singed his skin, he smirked as he thought of all the men and women who had discovered the door, discovered the password-no doubt obtained under torture-but had never thought that the opening might be somewhere else other than the door. In a way, it was a warning to all those who didn't think to keep watch. Those who sometimes grew lazy in observation, never seeing the poison slipped in their cups, never seeing the blade hurled at them, never seeing the 100 and 1 ways they could and would die the moment they entered. Truly, the people of the underworld had no time for foolishness

Landing firmly on his feet, he looked around, his eyes fully opening, taking in the sights Knockturn Alley at it's nightly best. Street vendors, sellers of all things arcane and illegally obtained shouted out their goods. Scantily clad whores sauntered along the street, seductively calling for custom. Sinister witches and warlocks strode up and down the worn and grimy paths, searching for loot. A small smile curved his lips even as he somersaulted out of the way of a flying dagger. This, more than Hogwarts, and certainly more than Privet Drive, was home.

After setting his assailant on fire in retaliation, he jauntily walked down a few roads. The moon was high in the sky, and magical orbs of golden light floated in midair. Bright lanterns were strung from canopy to canopy, draped over stalls and tables, giving just enough light that there were plentiful patches of darkness in which to conduct all sorts of shady business. Only a few narrowed their eyes at him; he was quite well known throughout this quarter, and the deft placement of his hand on his thigh- where a few knives were concealed- did much to dissuade others from attacking him.

"Well," called a low contralto voice, "what do we have here?" Turning slowly, Harry saw three women strolling towards him, their faces and lush bodies artfully veiled.

"Hail, Rauchelle, Rhianna, Soracha," Harry drawled, catching their hands and kissing them. "How do you fare, my ladies?"

The three sinful women smiled at the young man they were genuinely fond of. They had first encountered him when they were quite fresh in their 'business', aged only in their late teens. Searching for custom, they spotted a small boy of about eight, green eyes wide with fear and just a touch of amazement. It was almost as though he had come from another world. Having yet to harden their souls to the daily life of the Alley, they took pity and brought him into their tent and lives, teaching him the ways of a rogue's life. How he had ended up in the alley in the first place was another story altogether, a story he had successfully evaded telling each time it came up.

Another story unexplained was that he continually disappeared again and again, his absences growing longer and longer as time passed by until the most he visited them was every ½ year. These absences made the three slightly worried, but with each return, he would speak to them as though he had only seen them yesterday and all worries would be forgotten. He was like a nephew to them, an _errant_ nephew.

"So, darling, we hear that you are employed by the," Rauchelle's dark eyes flickered around the street, "powerful ones." Her voice ended in a whisper. She looked at him expectantly.

"Ah, but to tell, my beautiful ladies, is not good business," he said slyly, his eyes full of hidden meaning.

"Oooh" Soracha cooed, "Our little boy is all grown up!"

"Well then," Rhianna's steely gaze pierced through any façade her little Harry may have picked up, "you'd better slip off."

Harry looked at her with renewed respect. She knew. Yet, it was not for nothing that he had spent many a day by her side, learning of all the subtle intricacies of human behaviour. She always had been the wisest of them all, her past nearly as mysterious as Harry's.

"Yeah," he unenthusiastically agreed, "best be gone"

Rhianna's stare softened. "Come back later," she amended. The quick grin he flashed them was worth it. Like a phantom of Hades himself, he melted into the shadows.

Turning around, they began to make their way back to their canopy when an arm reached out and grabbed Rauchelle. Mouthing to her companions "I'll take care of this" she turned and saw a middle aged warlock, his face full of lust. He groped her breasts, leaned in and tried to suck at her neck. With a well practiced move she flipped him over and extricated herself.

"If it is custom you want, hand over the cash first" she held out her hand expectantly. When the warlock tried to put a measley two galleons in her hand, she turned away abruptly.

"How dare you, sirrah," she said snidely. "That is not my price." She made to walk away.

"Your price is too high," he whined, "How do I know that you're good, bitch."

"If you don't know a value goods when you see them you can take your business else where," she snorted, swinging her plump arse.

"Fine" he said, giving her eighteen more galleons, "Now…" He reached for her breasts again and she let him. He did pay, after all.

.::break::.

Ducking under a few rotten hanging he pulled aside a door to reveal a medium sized, well lit room, with a sturdy oak table and leather upholstery. A luxury that didn't look as though it belonged within 50 miles of this hovel. Under all the wreakage, however, were heavy duty, reinforced with magic, steel walls that any expert thief would despair of breaking through.

He seated himself on one of the chairs at the table, ran his fingers through his black hair and prepared himself for a bit of a wait. The master liked to make his staff wait for a bit, by way of letting them know who was boss. Having worked for several people under different amounts of pay, he was very familiar with this power ploy. It didn't bother him much. Just as long as that pile of gold sitting pretty in Gringotts kept growing. Contrary to what Ron thought, at least half of his riches was created out of his own sweat and blood.

Having the good sense to become familiar and make friends with his financial managers, his rather steady increase in income as he took on more dangerous jobs, never raised many questions. He suspected that the goblins had a few contacts in the underworld themselves. Hearing a soft footstep, he braced himself.

Appearing in the doorway, an impressive 6ft tall man strode into the room, seating himself opposite to Harry. He wore something similar to a black muggle suit, with wizarding variations around the coat and collar. He had wavy black hair and a square jaw, and his black eyes bore in to Harry, holding judgment in reserve.

"Name?" he said clearly, intonation precise and correct.

Harry removed his hand from his hair and straightened in his chair. He faced the man full on, giving his future employer his full attention.

" I am called Devada. Shay Devada"

"Devada. I have a task for you, prove your worth."

Harry tilted his head, interested.

"Lenerd Stoker, 40s, large unpaid debt. He owns a gold medallion around his neck, roughly the value of his debt. Take care of things. You have 5 days."

Harry or rather Shay, nodded sharply.

"And Devada? He's rather attached to his gold, almost as much as I am attached to claiming and keeping what is mine. It is my wish that this issue be resolved without too much pain in our…partnership." There was a warning in his voice. Shay never really listened to warnings.

"So I suppose you'll be wanting your ruby back, then," Shay smirked audaciously.

The boss threw a quick glace at his left hand, incidentally where his ruby should have been. Shay felt a small flash of satisfaction, at the brief look of surprise that crossed the older man's face as he realized that his ring was gone. Shay nonchalantly laid the ruby ring on the table, right in the middle, letting it wink cheekily at the Boss.

AN: The poem in the prologue is by Franz Joseph Schubert, He's kind of dead, so I really couldn't ask his permission to use it. As it was a fatal disease that inspired his poem, I don't think he wants to be reminded of it either.

Now, don't you think that little button just below looks very clickable…


	2. Chapter 2:Trouble

**Denizen of the Dogwatch**

AN: thanks to all the wonderful people that were kind enough to drop me a note. More reviews will be welcomed with a fanfare and red carpet…

**Chapter Two: Trouble**

"Ya dain't say," Zripiki snarled. He held his grimy fist protectively to his chest, knowing what he held inside the fist interested this man very much. Too bad he, Zripiki, was more interested keeping it to himself.

"Oh come now, Zripiki. Let's have a good look at things. You, a mere stall holder, I, a man of wealth and influence, who do you think is most likely to succeed?" He sneered arrogantly, though nobody could see it, as his face was masked.

"Woutever! D'ya really think I'll jeust geeve it up? Naw, ya gotta sweeten the deal, or ya can take yer shit outta m' sight!"

The sullen stallholder glared meanly at his…_customer_. Who did this man think he was, walking about the alley with that haughty demeanour, with his clean cut suit and gold jewellery? Zripiki was surprised that nobody had yet to decorate the space between his shoulder blades with a pretty dagger of sorts. Must be bodyguards of some kind. _Bodyguards_, he spat contemptuously. The likes of him just didn't belong here.

"Well why don't I just deal with you right now?' The man made a menacing movement with his hand and out of the corner of his eye, Zripiki saw some men shift closer, their faces darkened by night. He grew a bit nervous. As much as he disdained those who hired others to protect themselves, he could spy at least five armed men and he wasn't _that_ good.

"I think you should reconsider, _sirrah_," said a sharp, slightly accented, voice. Zripiki started. What the devil? He hadn't seen this new player come up from behind his customer. Looks as though _he_ definitely had thoughts about knifing the arrogant one. Recognizing the voice, his insides filled with relief. Devada could handle anything. He smiled slightly, having seen a few beads of sweat appear on the man's forehead; it was nice to see the tables turned.

The man froze. He could feel a dagger pricking at the base of his neck. "Who are you, and how dare you touch me? Unhand me immediately!" Obviously the man had little experience with such situations. His attacker gave a low, sinister chuckle. "You aren't in any position to make demands, _fuckwit_." Amusement abruptly dying, Shay gave his dagger a small vicious twist, The man, who Shay was starting to get the feeling that he was a bit younger than he seemed, shrieked as he felt the sharp point drag through his skin. Ignoring his victim's cries Shay snarled.

"Call off your men! Or it'll be worse than this little scratch." Sobbing slightly, he did as was told. "

"Let me go," he whimpered. Shay snorted, swinging him in to one of the chairs beside the stall, knife drawn around so it was now under the chin. "What part of, 'not in a position to make demands' did you not understand?" He roughly grasped the edge of the mask and ripped it of. He quickly bit the inside of cheek to keep a startled expletive from slipping past his lips, as he instantly recognized that blond hair, pointed chin, gray eyes that were staring at him with immense fear. Shay felt no satisfaction, only a vague disgust.

Typical Malfoy, thinking that he was badass, strong and capable enough, to play adult games. Just because he was the son of a deatheater. Shay shook his head as he ruefully remembered that he himself was also a child. But he was willing to bet big time that Malfoy lived a cosseted, pampered life, never knowing what it was to scavenge of the streets, to go hungry for days as he had done whenever the Dursleys had thrown him out. He bet that Malfoy had never been hungry enough to steal, hungry enough to kill. He stared into Malfoy's eyes.

No, he was right. Draco Malfoy, despite his Slytherin lineage, did not have that certain darkness in his soul, that certain edge that one needed to live a rogue's life. But now…what to do with him? Kill him? In spite of his selfish exterior, he still felt some underlying loyalty to the Alley, and he wasn't prepared to let Lucius Malfoy get it into his head to destroy it, for the death of his beloved son. For even if his son did not have that darkness. Malfoy senior certainly did. In spades.

Swiftly, he slipped the knife down to a point under Malfoy's neck, applying enough pressure that he would look dead- so as not to arouse the suspicions of the Alley inhabitants- but wouldn't actually be dead. Shay would force-feed Malfoy some firewhiskey later, and leave him in a brothel near Diagon Alley. So that when the Elder Malfoy located him later, he would just think that Malfoy had gotten drunk and horny, never suspecting Knockturn. Excellent.

Letting Malfoy's supine body slide to the floor, he turned to Zripiki. The stall owner gave him a nod of respect, a rarity in itself.

" Eh, I know I dain't say dis offen, but thanks. Five percent discoun' t' ya anytime, Devada." Shay shrugged.

"What can I say Zripiki? He annoyed me?"

"Den best not say anything. But, gotta say, ya do hell more damidge wit a bit o' annoyance den most of us wuld do when we gets pissed."

"Just a question. What was the idiot after, anyway," Shay nodded toward Malfoy, genuine curiosity on his face.

"M' s'pose I can tell ya. He wanted dis Transportal Key." He let Shay have a tiny glimpse of the pulsing orange object before snapping his fist shut. Shay inwardly frowned. A Transportal Key? No wonder Zripiki was so protective; those were expensive. But why would Malfoy want one…something planned for this year, no doubt. When he went back to Hogwarts he'd have to keep an eye on Malfoy. Perhaps Malfoy was naïve when it came to the underworld, but he had successfully plotted and executed plans to disrupt Shay's life before. At Hogwarts, he was a threat. Pity Shay couldn't just kill him now…nope, that would have to stay a happy fantasy. For now. He pushed the thoughts away.

Seeing that he regained Shay's attention, Zripiki stretched his arms out, inviting Shay to have a look at his merchandise.

"Canna eenterest ya in a little somethin?"

"Why yes. I need some pianowire."

"Eh?"

Shay hummed noncommittally.

"Ah see..."

.::break::.

Breathing a little harsher than normal, Shay, or rather, _Harry _darted up the rose trellises. Before climbing through the window, he listened. As planned, all three Dursleys were asleep. After all, it was just after dawn. Landing silently into his room, he swiftly undid all the locks imposed on his door, and treaded down the hallway, into the bathroom. Throwing up a silencing ward around the shower unit, he switched the hot water tap on and hissed contentedly. He'd be even more content when Aunt Petunia took her morning shower and discovered that all the hot water was gone.

Forty-five minutes later saw him sitting on his bed stretching his muscles like a cat. Running like he did, he always made sure to treat his body well after long periods of "exercise". Casting his eyes around the room he eyed the frugal walls. Apart from the trunk sitting in a corner, the calendar on the wall and a small photograph of him and his parents on his desk, there wasn't much indication that anybody lived here at all. Spying his well worn glasses next to the photo, he put them on.

In truth, he didn't actually need them, having fixed his eyes with an illegal potion purchased off one of the shadier hawkers in the Alley. But tossing away his glasses would raise many eyebrows and even more questions than he cared to answer, from those who knew of the hereditary Potter blindness. So he just swapped the lenses to ordinary glass and kept wearing them. It was also an advantage, allowing his enemies to content themselves with this obvious weakness.

Getting up from his bed, Harry noticed that it, too, looked hardly used. Another thing to add on to the list of potter abnormalities was his almost inhuman ability to stay awake. The most sleep he needed on an ordinary day was about 3 hours. Any more was pure luxury, though sometimes he slept for longer after a fight or magical exhaustion.

Having completed all his homework assignments and not being too worried about his other _assignment_ (he had five days, after all) Harry decided to further explore the neighbourhood. He was already pretty familiar Little Whinging-Surrey; however, he wasn't too sure about.

Heading down Magnolia Road, he reached Magnolia Crescent. Mornings, in Harry's opinion, were the best times to be on the street in this place. Many of the residents were still fast asleep, sparing Harry from having to endure muttered comment's about 'that delinquent boy'. Having been called everything from a whore's fucktoy to a worthless shit in his younger days-before he mastered the dagger-the comments themselves didn't bother Harry too much, but when you can hear everything as clear as a bell…well, it gets a bit irritating.

Further on, he reached a main road and saw a few shops. Idly interested in muggle merchandise, he sauntered in to a shop that sold clothing. He saw the man behind the counter looking at him with undisguised apprehension, taking in his worn and ragged jeans and T shirt. Deciding against antagonising the man, Harry walked up to the counter and gave his most charming smile.

"Hello Mr, my name's James and I'm thinking of getting some new clothing. As you can see, I'm in dire need." Harry said glibly, gesturing at himself. "I lived with some friends for a while and most of my stuff hasn't gotten back to me yet and this is about all I have."

Harry wasn't lying. He had lived with his friends in Knockturn, and a fair amount of his things were with them. Most of his possessions at the Dursleys were expendable things, like his Hogwarts stuff and Dudley's hand-me-downs. All the rest of his stuff, his 'crime kit'; specific weaponry, magical items, custom designed Alley clothing were at his safehouse in the Alley, a highly warded place that not even Rhianna knew about.

Steven's-Harry had read his nametag-demeanour appeared to change, though there was still some underlying suspicion. He regarded Harry with a bit of sympathy.

"Bit of a delay, you say. That's too bad. What were you looking for?"

Harry shrugged. Getting some new clothing was a spur of the moment decision really. He wasn't too interested in what he wore, so long as it served its purpose. On second thoughts, this might be a good investment, help him blend in better. He could tell the Dursleys that one of his friends bought the stuff. He smiled a bit, imagining Mad Eye Moody shopping around.

"Maybe some jeans, a couple of T shirts, a few jumpers, I'm not too fussed. Do you sell shoes?"

Steven stepped over to a rack of jeans.

"Let's start here, shall we? What colour would you like?"

Harry just randomly pointed at a few light blue jeans that looked flexible enough to fight in.

"Okay," Steven said, taking the ones that were Harry's size, "Why don't you go try those on while I find some T-shirts that you might like…"

Harry left the shop wearing some of the clothing he'd bought, with four stuffed bags, and was 200 pounds lighter. Ducking into a few bushes, he subtly shrank the bags. Turning around, he was about to continue down the pathway when he heard a very familiar footstep. Tensing, he stopped until a slightly harried looking boy reached him.

"Felix," he greeted with a smile-Felix was one of his contacts and their partnership was fairly simple, he would find out whatever Harry wanted to know, and Harry would pay him- "long time no see." Under that smile, however, Harry hissed, "What the hell are you doing here? I thought I sent you to Rockton?"

"Yeah it's been a while," Felix replied genially. He quickly whispered, "There's trouble. You'd better get back to the Dursley House."

Harry moved in to give the younger boy a brotherly hug. "Please," he whispered scornfully, "I can take care of myself, whatever it is."

Felix leaned closer to Harry. "Maybe _you_ can," he retorted softly, "but your relatives sure as hell can't" Harry's eyes slightly widened as he realised the full implications of the information.

"Fuck, the wards!" he exclaimed, shooting down the street.

"What? No goodbye?" Felix called insolently after him.

AN: And at this very moment, you are feeling an overwhelming urge to give me a review. Please?


	3. Chapter 3:Trend

**Denizen of the Dogwatch**

AN: To my fantastic reviewers, thankyou, thankyou! All fanfare and red carpet as promised!

**Chapter Three: Trend**

"Oh, that boy will be the death of me," Petunia Dursley complained to her husband as she stood by the stove, stirring a pot. She was a bit thinner, these days, her skin slightly sallow. Her doctors said that nothing was wrong with her, just maybe that she should eat a bit more. The nerve of them. She was eating fine.

"What's the freak done now, Pet?" Vernon Dursley blustered, shaking his newspaper. He sat on the veranda outside the kitchen window. His walrus-like moustache quivered a bit, gleaming in the noon sun.

"He used up all the hot water," Petunia sniffed, "and he somehow did it without waking us up."

"Unnatural, is what that boy is," Vernon agreed darkly. "Well we can't do much about it until he comes back here."

A chink of china alerted him to lunch. Appetite roused, he folded up his paper and eagerly went inside for a delicious meal. Being a muggle, he was completely unaware of the large magical shattering that flashed over his house. Settling down at the dining table, he didn't notice the sudden appearance of black robed figures striding across his lawn.

About a block away from the Dursley House, Harry tuned out the mundane noises of steady traffic and twittering birds, and focused on human noise. Picking up faint cries from that direction, he gritted his teeth. The Wards had already fallen.

Harry's relationship with the Dursleys was very strange. There was no love between he and Dudley, but there was no hate either. Dudley had been Harry's tormentor for most of his childhood and Harry had been Dudley's tormentor for most of his adolescence, so as far as Harry was concerned, they were even.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, on the other hand, he truly could not decide which one he hated the most. Aunt Petunia was the one he was related to by blood. She should have, at the very least, made sure that he was adequately fed, clothed and sheltered. She didn't, and for this, he would not forgive her.

Uncle Vernon…his actions were a double edged sword. If he hadn't cast Harry out all those times, Harry might have never met Knockturn. But if Vernon had not cast him out, he might still be normal. He could remember all those days he spent _pleading_ for food, sleeping in an acid burning daze, mouth parched…the sheer irresponsibility of his _uncle's _actions still rankled at him! It was not as though Vernon had no money to give him the necessities of life; he could afford that many times over. And Vernon's penchant for physical violence…

He schooled his emotions into a cold indifference. If what awaited him was anything like the remains of various Death Eater raids he had seen, he could not afford to be distracted.

As he advanced toward the house, he halted and knelt in the rhododendrons, dredging up a pair of rubber boots. Slipping them over his trainers, he created an extended field around his body of rubber properties. Continually ducking under neatly manicured plants and leaves and trees, he made a full circuit around the house kneeling here and there to check that everything was in place. After securing the last piece, he stood. Time to enter.

"Why, it's itty bitty Potty, come out to play," Bellatrix cooed tauntingly. All the other Death Eaters heads whipped up, obviously having not seen Harry appear.

Harry, much to Bellatrix's slight discomfiture, casually leaned on the front doorframe, as though his relatives weren't getting tortured in the next room. He coolly surveyed the room, taking in the collateral damage. The flowery lounge would never be the same ever again. Completely ignoring Petunia's shrill cries as she was held under the cruciatus, he straightened and strolled into the house. Bellatrix's wand flittered towards him.

"Careful now, itty potty, or I'm might just slip and you might just die, like your useless mutt of a godfather." Her only warning was a slight tightening around his eyes before he blurred forward, tackling her to the ground, driving a dagger into her abdomen. Blood spraying everywhere, she screamed like a gutted pig. Wrenching his dagger out he stabbed a few more times, making sure that the wounds were not fatal. He wanted her alive for the final surprise.

He grazed his hands over her vital points, causing her to shudder even as her arteries pumped blood on to the floor. Locking her eyes with his, he mentally recoiled with abhorrence as he saw a light of pleasure and pain shimmering within. She was enjoying this!

Morbidly, he brought his hands around, stroking her sides, her thighs. She arched upward, moaning, her face flushed. She didn't notice her wand disappear into Harry's pocket. He quickly withdrew his hands and stood.

His sudden movement seemed to awaken the Death Eaters, who had just been standing around dumbly. They snapped into action, firing spells left, right and center. Too bad Harry had trained himself to never be left, right or centre. Lashing out a few spells of his own, he began to engage in the battle. To his left, a window shattered. Harry frowned. Why hadn't one of the neighbours tried to investigate? Repelling ward?

A volley of incandescent light swerved toward his neck, breaking his thought and forcing him to duck. The sound he picked up however, was not the high frequency of a spell, but rather the scissoring of a blade. Hissing, he snapped his eyes around. They widened as another flash whipped across the room, aimed at his heart.

A thrill crept up his spine, as a rush suffused his body. Fight! his body screamed. He cast a Field of Confusion over the room, causing the Death Eaters to begin attacking each other. Dispatching two nearby Death Eaters with a combined axe and roundhouse kick, he sought out this new party.

Reaching behind him, he grasped the flat of the blade, and pulled it out of the wall in which it had made its mark. The blade was circular, with six sharp points. _Hira shuriken_ his mind identified. A throwing star-a fucking ninja weapon. If there were ninjas here, then he might just be in fucking deep shit. Yeah, he was good. But he had never had proper training before. All he knew was just cultivated experience and raw power.

He had to end this quickly.

Wary and cautious, he selectively knocked out the rest of the Death Eaters, careful not to drain himself. Stepping toward Bellatrix's body, he reluctantly left her bleeding where she was. Revenge was good, but being alive was better. He opened all his senses, straining for the warning sound of a whirling blade.

As he entered the next room, his vision became blood filled. The carnage was tasteless and gory. If this was the kind of 'finesse' Voldemort's minions had, no wonder he had to recruit outside the country. He saw some Death Eater's crowding around his aunt and cousin doing God knows what. Actually, if God was as holy and pure as they said, then God probably didn't know what.

He zoomed in on the three people standing next to Vernon's mutilated corpse. He wasn't disturbed by it, having seen a lot worse in the more violent quarters of the Alley. No, these people…their stance, fitted clothing…just something… As one, they turned to him. Catching a flash of steel, Harry instantly made the connections.

Voldemort had sent many minions and as a group leader, Bellatrix. However, he had deemed them not fit enough to face him, and had also sent these three…mercenaries?

Harry wasn't sure whether he felt more praised or disturbed by Voldemort's realization that he might be stronger than the average Death Eater group.

The middle one was shortest and had the body of a female, coming only to about Harry's shoulder. But it was obvious that she (or a very feminine he) was the leader. She was completely covered in black cloth, except for her eyes, which were black, slanted and pretty. The other two were also of slight build, but were masculine.

He had stared at her for far too long. _Vivamarcus! _A dull green light lanced at his shoulder, letting it fall, useless, by his side. Using his magic to numb the searing pain he rolled to one side, catapulting himself at groups of Death Eaters throwing the grimy room into a disarray of twisting bodies. He heard the ninjas dart onto one of the window sills. Utilising the mess, he wove through the throng, simultaneously checking his rubber field. If there was a single gap…his mind shuddered away from the possible consequences; death, or even worse, loss of magic.

Crouching down, sheltered from the ninja's darts by the frenzy, he grasped the last end of the piano wire. Magically strengthened, and enhanced iron ore, he had wound it around the house ages ago, as a last minute resort should all else fail. Well, all else well failing right now, and his chances were worth shit if one of those poison darts the ninjas were throwing found him. He jammed the wire deep in to the power point.

There was a shift in the frenzy, and he could see across the melee. He saw the ninjas tense as they sensed danger. Harry looked up. They looked down. Their eyes met. They had the opportunity to attack. They didn't take it, seeing the almost shaking finger Harry had poised over the switch. Just one flick and all fucking hell would break loose. (Definitely not God's domain.) Harry had won, as out numbered as he was, and they knew it.

The female held his eyes. Along with a grudging admiration was a small jibe as they both arrived at the same thought. _You won't be on your homeground forever. And when you come out…we'll see._

She mouthed one word before departing. Challenge.

They dropped out of the house.

Harry flicked the switch.

Years down the track, experts would still be trawling through the debris, trying vainly to discover what had caused that mini earthquake in Privet Drive. They would never discover the culprit. Magic was like that.

.::break::.

Staining his trainers muddy green, Harry dragged them through the grass as he dumped himself on to a bent swing (Dudley had obviously been there prior.) Staring into the distance he could see the beginning of the sunset, long waves of orange blushing pink. He sat there, mind completely blank as his eyes drank the richness of the encroaching dusk. He needed that time alone, a small break from this trend of death-his parents, Cedric, Sirius and now the Dursleys. There was no grief.

He still sat there as the pattering feet of Mrs Figg hurried toward him. He numbly let her drag him to her house, letting her frantic muttering's of how some powerline had exploded, how Death Eater's were really responsible, wash over his usually attentive ears. Small tremors ran under his feet. As they approached her house where a very concerned looking Dumbledore gravely waited for him there, those black slanted eye's flittered across his mind, her word to him.

_Challenge._

He always did have this thing for Asians.

AN: Comments? Questions? Please review. You know you want to.


	4. Chapter 4:Quarter

**Denizen of the Dogwatch**

AN: Does anyone think that 'T' is the wrong rating for this story?

**Chapter Four: Quarter**

"_So…Shay, is it?" The brunette curved her sumptuous body around Shay. "Sounds…erotic." She purred as he caressed her breasts. Voice heady with desire, he whispered, "For you…it could be." Eyes gleaming wickedly, he ran his finger down her back, eliciting a load moan._

Shay came to reluctantly. His head was pounding and his right shoulder twinged. Eyes sifting through the dim light, he then noticed something warm and heavy on his torso and around his legs. Tentatively touching it, he then realised what it was.

"Oh God," he groaned shifting his body slightly. It was one of _those_ mornings. The girl-he damned well hoped it was a girl-on top moaned, and woke up. Yawning, she sleepily said, "Where am I?"

"Bloody good question," Shay drawled, trying to ignore his fervent hangover. "Any more?"

Her head shot up, surprised. They stared at each other. Understanding finally piercing through her alcohol induced stupor, she dropped her head, thunking on Shay's chest. "Fuck."

"That was the idea," Shay agreed. How the hell had he ended up here? Couldn't quite remember…

He heightened his hearing only a fraction, remembering the last time he had fully opened his ears-he had unwittingly been walking past a brothel at the time-he had learnt more than his ancestors had ever dreamed. Hearing none of those familiar sounds of moaning and grunting, sliding sheets and the squeaking of bedsprings, he surmised that he wasn't in a brothel and had just wound up somewhere nowhere.

"Well, who the fuck are you, and where the hell are we?" She said, her voice muffled by his chest.

"What, you don't recognise this place?"

Groaning slightly, she sat up, and gave the room a cursory look-over.

"Mmm, we're at my room." Standing up, she made a few unsteady steps towards a mirror and a sink in what looked like the bathroom, Shay admiring her bare ass the whole way. She studied her dishevelled hair, and then turned around, smirking.

"I'm a mess. You must've been wild."

"Like it rough, do you?"

"Let's just say I'll definitely seek you out again." A memory flashed briefly in his mind- this girl, tugging brazenly at his shirt, both of them drunkenly lurching up the stairs, ripping that shirt off-speaking of which- He looked around for the discarded apparel. Climbing out of the bed, he fished around the room, finally spying it on top of a lamp, obscuring the light. He immediately regretted grabbing it as the sudden brightness assaulted his eyes.

"Merlin's Balls!" he swore as he shielded his eyes from the glare. Warding away his throbbing headache with a simple charm, his head cleared and he slowly recollected what had happened.

"_Harry, I am greatly sorry for your loss," Dumbledore began, motioning him to take a seat in one of Mrs Figg's floral printed couches. He declined the offer, preferring to remain standing. It was not a definite statement, but it showed the Headmaster that he was not so affected by the Dursleys death's that he needed to be cared for like a child. With both standing, it would give an impression of equality, though Dumbledore was taller. _

"_I understand that you will need time to grieve, somewhere quiet would be ideal. But the most urgent matter of the moment is your safety." Mrs. Figg fluttered around in the background, unsure as to what she should be doing. Muttering something about getting tea, she left the room._

"_My safety?" Harry murmured. "What about my safety?" He turned slightly toward the window, he really didn't want to deal with the old man now. So called leader of Light or no, Albus Dumbledore was one of the most cunning son-of-a-bitches Harry had ever known, and he wouldn't put it past the man to take advantage of his 'grief'. He had no grudges toward Dumbledore in that respect, he knew only too well the cruelty of life and that one must seize every advantage presented. But that didn't mean he was just going to let Dumbledore walk all over him. _

"_Yes Harry, judging by what I have seen, Death Eater's were most definitely at the scene of the crime and they will no doubt-Harry, are you hurt?"_

_Harry glance abruptly down, glad that he had the foresight to give himself a good clean and had changed into fresh clothes. Damn the headmaster's eyes were sharp! His arm was slightly inclined with pain, only an observant person would have picked up the odd angle it was placed. He had healed it up some, but his skills were no where near Madam Pomfrey's._

"_Yeah," Harry agreed with an appropriated wince, " Had a bit of an accident, wasn't watching what I was doing…" That was true enough._

"_Come, my boy, we must get you to the headquarters at once. I'll send for Poppy." _

_Harry's head shot up, thinking furiously. He couldn't allow Dumbledore to herd him back to Grimmauld Place; it would be a nightmare to escape. How was he supposed to execute his plan there? He would be constantly watched, even spied on, there would no privacy and every echoing step in that forsaken place would remind him of Sirius and he couldn't afford to be distracted-Sirius!_

"_No."_

"_Pardon?" Dumbledore stopped what he was doing-which was making a portkey-to stare at Harry over his half moon glasses._

"_No." Harry enunciated very forcefully as though the very thought distressed him-which it did. "I will not go back to that hellish place." He turned away roughly as though trying to hide his emotions._

"_Ah." Dumbledore said, understanding._

"_Si-Sir-he hated it there," Harry hitched his throat and shuddered a bit. He even forced out a tear._

"_There there, Harry." Dumbledore murmured soothingly. He placed his hand on Harry's uninjured shoulder._

"_But you must understand, that there really is nowhere else for you to go-"_

"_I'm not going back there!" Harry cried out, rather childishly now that he recalled it. For some reason, Dumbledore's words struck a chord. _

_Nowhere else for you to go…Harry __**hated**__ being trapped…just like Sirius._

"_Now Harry you must see reason, it's the safest place for you. There isn't anywhere-"_

"_Yes there is," Harry snapped, then immediately regretted it. He hadn't meant to let that slip._

"_What?" A calculating gleam entered Dumbledore's cerulean eyes, Harry was often quite vague about his life, and here was an opportunity to dig a little deeper. "Harry, have you been-"_

_Not waiting to hear anymore and feeling severely bothered by all the events of the day, Harry wrenched his shoulder away from Dumbledore and jumped out of the window that Mrs Figg had obligingly left open. _

_By the time Dumbledore had rushed outside the house, Harry was gone._

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_Face as black as thunder, Shay stormed into a tavern and sat at the bar, cursing himself, What the hell had happened back there?_

_The proprietor, idly wiping a tankard, sidled towards Harry._

"_You look like shit," he said bluntly._

"_I feel like shit," Shay snarled sardonically, "Wha' d'ya know?" The fact that the proprietor didn't chuck him out for his tone was testimony to how long Shay had been visiting this particular place._

"_Here, get some of this into you," He slammed a tankard of…something alcoholic in front of Shay. _

"_Trying to get me drunk, Dagon?"_

_The tavern keeper shrugged, "I know that you'll pay, rogue that you are."_

_Shay grabbed the tankard and sculled it. He threw Dagon a galleon._

_Dagon raised his eyebrows, but pocketed it anyway._

"_Just keep them coming."_

"_Now look who's gettin who blotto."_

_Shay raised his new tankard mockingly, then sculled it._

"_To the best medicine in the world." _

"_That's the idea." Dagon agreed, handing him another. _

And things just got foggier and foggier from there. At some point he must have left, then stumbled across-

"What did you say your name was?" Shay casually asked while looking for his boxers.

"Natalie, and this are yours, I think." Black silk was thrown across the room.

"And this is yours, though I think you look better without it,"

"You would," Natalie said as the red G-string exchanged hands. She moved around the room, straightening the bed, pulling various items of clothing on. "Your name is Shay, isn't it? I think I remember you saying that last night."

"Yeah," Shay confirmed, pulling on his jeans.

"Do you work?"

"I do odd jobs, nothing really steady. You?"

"I work at Sainsbury."

A muggle, then.

"If you don't mind, what's this address?" She gave him a questioning look.

"I have to work out how to get home."

"Oh!" She scrawled something on paper and handed it to him. He raised his brows.

"If you ever get lonely…" she trailed off suggestively.

.::break::.

'Oh, you fucknut of a wanker' was what Shay was thinking as he gave Lenerd Stoker the 'special treatment'. Sometimes he pitied the people he was sent to deal, really, he did. They were so stupid to think that they could ignore a problem and it would just go away. Shay had no problem with killing or torturing people, he'd done it before, and he'd do it again. But that didn't mean he didn't value life.

His classmates all had this aversion to taking a life. None had even taken their first blood, he'd wager. Shay guessed it came from growing up in a 'normal' family, a family that didn't wish you dead.

"please," Stoker whispered for mercy as Harry held him under a painful interrogation curse.

"That doesn't sound like you are telling me where the money is." Shay's voice was as cold as the arctic winds.

It was relatively easy to find out the location of Stoker. Shay gathered that he owed several people money when everywhere he had made discreet enquiries the name was greeted spitted curses. He was given looks of silent approval when those very people realised why he was asking around.

It had also been relatively easy to get the medallion. Shay was almost insulted by how easy it was.

"You have my medallion," the man whined.

Shay sighed, this was going to be a long night. Looking away from Stoker, he spotted a calendar on the wall.

September the 1st was fast arriving.

AN: A review anyone? One word? Two?


	5. Chapter 5:Fire

**Denizen of the Dogwatch**

**Chapter Five: Fire**

Shay stared up at the dusky, diamond-streaked sky and silently dared the gods to make anything else go wrong that day.

His current location: Sitting on the roof, at Grimmauld place, 'guarded' by the fucking Order of the Phoenix. They obviously had never learnt about civilian rights. It was hardly fair of Dumbledore to sic twelve order members on him…And the three hiding via invisibility cloak/potion? Sneaky bastards.

At least he got his revenge. After they had hauled Shay back to Grimmauld, he immediately set about leading them and a few others on a wild goose chase throughout the very, _very_ big house (as the order members discovered, much to their dismay). Having done his habitual reconnaissance when he first arrived at Grimmauld, he knew the place very well and was able to lose many of them along the way. Now only a few were left chasing, those that knew him better than most. They would catch up soon.

Pulling a knut out of his pocket, he began to flip it around with one hand, catching it with both sides, then with just one finger. A habit he had picked up as soon as he had earned enough money to be able to flip one. It also served as a distraction.

Tilting his head slightly, his ever sharp ears caught the sounds of people trying to open the door to the roof. He had wondered how long it would take them to discover his 'hiding place'. Now rolling the coin vertically on his fingers, he stopped glaring at the sky, and started speculating the door he had _accidently_ locked and place multiple wards on. Angry and amused at the same time, he noted the non progress they were making on it.

_No, Hermione…'alohomora' won't work, neither will 'relashio'…_

Several hard banging sounds occurred; Ron had evidently had enough of spell casting.

_Yelling 'OPEN!' won't work either, Ron._

He detected a scratching sound. Crookshanks, perhaps?

_Door knob isn't effective, is it, Remus? Wonder why…_

Shay's eyebrows shot up as he saw smoke start to curl around the door. _Someone_ had a temper. Leaning back against the worn slate tiles, he wondered how long it would take for someone to do the polite thing and knock on the door.

About 7 minutes later saw the door smouldering sulkily as Hermione, Remus, Crookshanks and Ron continued to attack it.

Shay balanced the coin on his nose.

He heard the sound of another person approaching. Considering the disjointed sound of skipping, and a strangely pleasant humming, Shay guessed that it was Luna.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" She sang in that silvery voice of hers. Shay silently agreed, he always appreciated the dark, him being who he was.

"Excuse us, Luna, but we're kind of busy here." Ron said in a brusque manner.

"Are you checking if there are dixileetrumps behind the door? Because yelling and banging won't achieve anything…" She appeared to be quite unoffended by Ron's irritation.

"We're trying to open this door but Harry won't let us in," Hermione explained patiently, in voice one used when talking to a slightly deaf person. Shay shook his head sorrowfully. Despite his current ire at her, he loved Hermione like a sister, he really did, but sometimes she was so closeminded! Hermione and Luna, both were among the most intelligent witches he knew, and they got on together like fire and water.

"Harry?" Luna called in surprise. "Are you there?" She stepped forward and lightly tapped the door.

_Good girl_ Harry mentally congratulated her as the door swung open to reveal three dishevelled humans, one squashed up cat and a serene Luna. They spoke all at once.

"_Harry!_" Hermione half yelled in abject frustration. "That was uncalled for!"

"All we had to do was knock?!" Remus uttered in a strangled voice.

"Unngh," Ron dumped himself on the roof, sending a couple of tiles skidding..

"Rouww" Crookshanks strutted over to Shay and stretched out, demanding to be petted.

"All the dixileetrumps must have left," Luna said sadly.

Harry turned to each of them one by one.

"_Hermione_! I didn't ask to be here."

"Remus, it's the polite thing to do."

"Eloquent, Ron. I like your style."

He reached out to stroke Crookshank's vermillion fur and said "Luna, I probably scared the dixileetrumps off. Sorry."

"That's ok, Harry. They'll come back." She wandered over to the edge, magic keeping her from falling.

Hermione glared at Harry, angry at his rude behaviour. Harry glared right back at her.

Remus had the grace to look ashamed. "Harry, I know this isn't exactly the place you want to be right now, damn, I don't want to be here either! But it's currently the safest place for both of us."

"So that gives you the right to drag me away from what I was doing and stuff me in HELL does it?"

"Harry, you were wondering the streets! Alone! Who knows what may have happened?"

"Well_ now_ I'll never know what may have happened…And I wasn't alone."

"No you weren't alone. Harry, you may not realise some things now, but let me tell you straight that that woman was taking advantage of you."

"What woman?" Hermione asked, staring at Harry with hostility.

"First you say it was bad 'cause I was alone, then you say it was bad 'cause I wasn't alone, what are you, frickin' bipolar?" Harry muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing?! Harry, that woman was about to-"

"Exactly! And you took me away from her!"

Remus shook his head. "Forget your teenage hormones for one moment, she was a vampire!"

"So she had a few…kinky habits…more's the fun!"

"What were you doing with that vampire?" Ron asked confusedly.

"Never mind, Ron," Hermione said forcefully, having gotten the gist of exactly what the order members had taken Harry away from. She would be having words with him later.

Catching her thoughts, Harry slyly said,

"Yeah, at least I know that wand A goes in to holster B…"

"HARRY!"

"Hermione, what's holster B?" Ron asked, with a perplexed expression on his freckled visage.

Hermione blushed furiously, and vehemently refused to say anything.

Harry smirked triumphantly. "Who's up for food?"

"Is holster B to do with food?"

"You can see it that way…"

"_HARRY!"_

At that point, Remus decided to do the prudent thing and take them down to dinner.

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Luna had declined to join them, and they left her tracing star patterns with her fingertips. As they appeared on the 1st landing, Mrs Black caught sight of them and started screaming effective immediately. Harry felt Hermione cringe next to him, and felt slightly belligerent towards the portrait, even though he was angry at Hermione.

"FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS! BEFOULING THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS! MONGRELS! DIRTY MUDBLOODS-"

"Evil, evil people that dare to remove the grime layering your cupboards, that have the oh-so-dastardly audacity to bring light into this dreary place, yes Mrs Black, very evil." Harry interrupted.

Mrs Black appeared to be quite shocked at him. So was everyone else. Looking around, it appeared that her screaming had drawn the attention of a few order members that had left their meeting to investigate.

Harry smiled softly. "This would be the point where I make really lame jokes about the pot calling the kettle _black_."

Behind him, Hermione let out a slightly hysterical giggle.

Not having understood, Mrs Black opened her mouth to resume her screaming, when she suddenly noticed the dangerous glint in Harry's eye. He was feeling protective of Hermione and was still irritated by the day's events. That woman was smokin' hot. He'd have to visit her later, order's orders be damned.

"Let me explain something to you, Mrs Black," Harry articulated in a sardonic voice. "I have very good hearing, if you get my meaning. I don't like your screaming. No one in this house likes your screaming. You see, it gets on people's nerves."

Harry gestured behind him to the clustered order members and friends. They stared at him in disbelief. He turned back to the painting.

Mrs Black sneered at him, having recovered from her shock at this boy's sheer boldness.

"And why should I listen to you, child?" She sniffed disdainfully.

"Well, I was under the impression that you didn't want anything to happen to your painting…"

Mrs Black laughed. "Do you think that your friends have not already tried to remove me? Foolish boy! I am impregnable."

Harry turned his head toward Remus questioningly. Remus nodded sadly. "We tried everything Harry. Incendio, even."

Harry shook his head. "More Wizarding arrogance, I see."

"HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT WIZARDS ARE-"

Harry snapped.

"Oh for Christ's sake, which idiotic painter decided to paint you while you were PMSing!" he snarled. He drew something out of his pocket, and showed it to Mrs Black.

"I'll bet my damn sexy arse you have no clue what this is, so I'll demonstrate,"

He directed it towards the umbrella stand, and watched gleefully as it caught on fire.

"Harry, that's a Zippo!" Hermione exclaimed, forgetting her anger.

"I know! Like the design?" He showed her the Celtic knotted casing proudly, also forgetting that he was angry at her.

"Yes, it's very nice, but you shouldn't play with fire!"

"Why not? Fire's fun." Ignoring Hermione's protests, he continued,

"As I was saying, you are an oil painting. On canvas. Which is flammable. This is a Zippo. It creates fire. Which is not magic, and thus will not be affected by your shields. Capisce?"

Mrs Black either understood the American slang, or understood the general idea of Harry's threat, but it was all water under the bridge as she acquiesced with a sullen glare.

All was blessedly silent. Then-

"I hated that bloody, tripping umbrella stand anyway"

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"So why are we exiled here again?" Harry asked as he paced around the room he and Ron shared.

"Oohhh…I don't know, maybe something to do with the fact that you set fire to the Black heirlooms and was about to start on the family tree!" Hermione said sarcastically.

"Well, it's not like the heirlooms were pretty! And Tonks doesn't like the umbrella stand anyway, you heard her."

"And the family tree?" Ron gave him the Look, seems like he had been spending a little too much time with Hermione. As to how they were spending the time-Harry DIDN'T want to go there. Then again…with Ron not knowing about different 'holsters'…he and Seamus had pissed themselves laughing when they found that out via dormitory chat.

"Mrs Black kept burning names off, no? I was just…finishing the job!"

"…good point" Ron said.

"So you're feeling better, I see?" Hermione snapped caustically.

"Much better." He grinned, suddenly feeling a surge of happiness. Burning stuff always put him in a better mood. And, he supposed he would admit to himself that he was genuinely happy to see Ron and Hermione. He reached around and gave Hermione a hug.

"Hi Hermione." He gave her a charming smile. She softened.

"Hello Harry." They always ended their arguments like this, greeting each other to clear the slate. Harry had long ago accepted that his life would be filled with unpleasantness, but being angry with his almost sister and vice versa was an unpleasantness he would try to avoid.

Ron grinned at him, glad to see his best friends not fighting anymore.

"Let's go down for dinner," he suggested. "I reckon that the order would be finished by now.

They left the room and went down. Harry instinctively listened in on the meeting and heard angry voices. He darted ahead of the others to investigate.

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"I see that Harry Potter has been safely rescued. Well done, to those who played a part in his retrieval." Dumbledore said. To his confusion, they gave him surly looks.

"Is something the matter?"

"Let's just say…we had a very trying day." Emmeline volunteered wearily, shaking her blonde hair.

"A very _long_ tiring day," Hestia agreed. She passed her hand over her head, kneading it.

"And why were we wasting time on the brat anyway?" Snape sneered.

"It was not time wasted," Tonks retorted, hair turning red. "He was alone in the streets!"

"Potter is just an arrogant little boy that gets too much attention for his own good."

"Siri-his godfather and relatives just died, have compassion!" Tonks snapped. "Not that you would know anything about that, you death eater!"

"Now, now, Tonks, Severus-" Dumbledore began.

Ignoring him, Snape glared at Tonks. Incensed, he viciously spat,

"Perhaps Potter isn't even sorry for the mangy mutt's death-"

"HOW DARE YOU!" Tonks yelled furiously, temper snapping at the insult of her now dead cousin. Howling like a banshee, hands extended and clawed, she grabbed at Snape but only succeeded in ripping his shirt. Dumbledore lifted his hands in a gesture of peace, vainly calling for calm over the din. Other members stood up, shouting for them to stop or yelling "get him, Tonks!" Kingsley jumped in to separate them, only to be sandwiched between Emmeline's legs as she tripped over him and inadvertently yanked Remus' jeans down. This was the point Harry entered the room.

"Whoa," Harry muttered, faintly surprised. What the hell-more like-what the _fuck_ had been going on in here?

Eyes slowly roaming the once pristine Order room, he took in the over turned chairs, Snape's clawed chest, Tonks' ruffled red hair, Kingsley's position, Remus' exposed…_limbs,_ Emmeline under Remus'…_limb_, and Dumbledore standing over them, arms poised over the melee, as though conducting it.

Barely registering Hermione and Ron skidding to a halt behind him as they craned their necks to gape at the spectacle, Harry gave a mischievous grin.

"Talk about the Orgy of the Phoenix…"

AN: Review? Please?


	6. Chapter 6:Seize the day

**Denizen of the Dogwatch**

AN: This contains some abuse.

**Chapter Six: Seize (the day)**

At 5 years old…an understanding that children his age were different to him, cosseted, looked after…_weaker_

At 6 years old… very aware that a quick tongue received lashes, yet a clever tongue prevented them… _control_

At 7 years old…the knowledge that those scars wreaked on his body would never fade…they were trophies of his life…_his_ _survival_

And at 8 years old…

"Embarrassed all of us, did freaky things, did you? Thought it would be funny, did you? Spittle flew at Harry's small, elfin-like face as this purple giant towered over.

Harry stood very still.

Vernon Dursley's blocky body heaved as his blood ran wild. His piggy eyes glaring in to his tiny, defenceless charge.

Harry relaxed his body. The hits would come soon and that always helped. He felt regret that he was currently wearing his best clothes, and that they would inevitably rip, and be stained with his blood. He had rather liked them too, as they fit him quite well (meaning he only had to roll up his sleeves twice, instead of five times) Dudley's cast-offs or no.

Harry sucked in his breath as one meaty hand swiped towards him. His fear turned to confusion as Vernon grabed his grey jumper. As Vernon dragged him along the corridor, Harry frowned slightly. Not that he wasn't glad to not get a beating, of course, but what was going on here? He reached a frightened understanding when Vernon dumped him in the backseat of the car. Vernon was finally going to do it! Harry was finally going to be dumped at the orphanage. He shivered with no small amount of fear. He had heard cruel stories of how, at orphanages, orphans were forced to labour night and day, given near nothing to eat, whipped and beaten, how none of them survived past sixteen…

His fears and thoughts increased as Vernon drove further and further away from home. His huge green eyes were wide as he saw Vernon continue down many, many roads. Try as he might, he could not remember how to get back home.

They continued on in a rigid silence, Vernon suffused with fury, Harry shrunken in with abject terror. He sneaked a glance at Vernon. The man had not said a word, his eyes fixed on some destination Harry did not know. Harry wasn't even sure why Vernon was so angry. Today was a special day, a day special not just because it was filled with games and lollies and treats and _fun_, but because it was a compulsory school event and that meant that Harry had to attend! He had been pushed into the shower and scrubbed vigorously by Petunia because 'freaks couldn't clean themselves properly for all the money in the world'. He had endured an half an hour of this water torture, towelled raw til his skin near blistered, and roughly forced in to his best fitting clothes, a pair of jeans with only _one_ hole in them, a plain light blue t shirt, and a grey jumper, but the torture was worth it if it meant he could go to the Carnival.

Once there, he managed to slither away from the Dursleys as Vernon was approached by one of his colleagues, whose daughter also attended Harry's school. His evasion would earn him a few sharp hits later and more than likely no dinner, but for a few hours of freedom in this colourful place, it was an affordable price. He happily roamed around, absorbing the jolly sights and sounds, the lurid jesters, the enticing games of chance and tang of freshly salted chips…his stomach rumbled, cruelly reminding him that he had been denied breakfast in favour of his wash up.

"Ho, you! Yeah, you with the green eyes!" Harry whipped his head around to one of the game stalls. Eyeing the beckoning lady in the yellow polka dotted kerchief, he hesitantly walked closer.

"Come on!" she called at Harry. She looked about Petunia's age, but was a thousand times more beautiful, with merry blue eyes and wavy brown hair. With her flowing fire coloured skirts and ruby amulet on a black cord, she looked like one of the gypsies Harry had seen in picture books.

"Would you like to play?" she said, smiling nicely and pointing to the selection of bright baskets and balls. "The prize is a lolly bag, and you look as though you're hungry for lollies." She laughed, not unkindly, but in a joyful sort of manner.

"Thank you, ma'am, but I haven't got any money." Harry looked down, disappointed as he really was hungry, and his next meal would probably tomorrow.

"Hmmm," said the gypsy, touching her lips, "You know what? You have a go anyway, free of charge. All you have to do is," she handed Harry a star patterned ball "get the ball in the basket three times. You have seven shots." She grinned as Harry stuttered his thanks.

"My pleasure, child. Go on, try your best." She gave Harry a light push toward the baskets.

Harry was stunned at this lady's kindness. Growing in the Dursley household, and having no friends, everything was given to him grudgingly. For a total stranger to show such open-handed generosity…it was enough to convince him that the world was not such a bad place after all.

He didn't realise, as he won that bag of sweets, that he would soon be clinging to that thought for months later.

Wandering around some more, he spotted his headmistress talking to some important looking man a few metres away. Harry quickly emptied his party bag into his various pockets, zipping them all up securely. Having gotten on the wrong side of the principle after that roof escapade a few years ago, he didn't want to be accused of stealing. He was about to walk away when Dudley, along with his parents noticed him.

Things had swiftly deteriorated from that point.

Dudley had waddled as fast as he could towards Harry.

"You are in sooo much trouble," he taunted. "Mum says that you're not to have dinner for two days." An unknown emotion flashed inside Harry. It felt something like anger. Here he was, having the best day of his life, and his family had to ruin it all. Something flickered in his mind and suddenly Dudley's gelled back hair-which Petunia had laboured to get perfect- was suddenly lime green! A few strands flopped in front of Dudley's eyes, causing him to shriek. He gripped Harry in a headlock, yelling 'I'll get you for this!" Harry tried an old technique he had learnt from years of being in this position; he twisted his head to the crook of Dudley's elbow-which would have allowed him to breathe had this been anyone else-but Dudley was so fat the his blubber choked Harry. As Harry was beginning to see black spots in front of his eyes, Vernon and Petunia were running towards them. People were turning their heads, staring at Harry's rapidly glazing expression. The important looking man had stopped talking to the headmistress and addressed Vernon-who had reached the boys by this time- sternly.

"I say, if that's your son, tell him to let go of that poor boy! He's turning pale."

By this time, Harry had passed out. Startled by the sudden weight (not that Harry actually weighed much but that Dudley, who spent his days sitting on the couch watching telly, was not strong at all) Dudley dropped Harry, letting him fall and jerking him back to a dazed semiconsciousness. He heard the crowd, taking their cue from the man, start to mutter comments.

"Bit of a bully, that Dudley…"

"Strangled that poor boy…"

"How on earth did his hair turn _green_?"

"Just like that!"

Vernon's faced was incensed for a moment, then he pasted a sickly sweet smile on his face.

"Now, now," He called loudly, "It's all right-just boys being boys after all." He grabbed Harry and made some pretence of checking him over. Only Harry saw the murderous look Vernon shot at him before turning around smilling so that the crowd could see the boy being cared for. The important man-seeing that Harry was alright- nodded once, and then walked away. They had gone home soon after, Petunia hustling Dudley to the bathroom, presumably to scrub the green out of his hair, and then he was here.

If Harry had been a bit older he would have understood why Vernon was furious that attention had been drawn to him. If there was two things Vernon had to have, it was his neighbours good opinion and normalness. He had lost both today. But Harry was still-despite his bleak outlook on life- a child, and could only think like a child, so he remained confused as to what it was that he did wrong.

And that uncertainty was worse than knowing could ever be.

Vernon's car screeched to a halt just outside a grim looking building. The night- for indeed night had fallen- had leeched all colour from their surroundings. Harry shook harder then ever. _Was this the orphanage-?_

Slamming the door as he got out, Vernon for the second time that day, roughly grabbed Harry by his jumper, bodily lifted him out of the car, and near flung him against the building.

"Stay," he snarled, breath coming out in fuming hisses, "and don't ever go back to my house. You-you are finished!" He stormed back to his car and drove off.

Harry stopped breathing for a moment. Unless he was mistaken, which-knowing his luck-he wasn't, there was no noise inside that building and since orphanages have lots of people in it, that meant that Vernon had done worse than leaving him at an orphanage.

He had abandoned Harry in the darkest part of London.

Harry huddled for quite some time by that grimy wall. Hunger had overcome his deathly fear and he pulled a chocolate out of one of his pockets. Slowly eating it, savouring every mouthful, he considered the hand fate had dealt him. Thinking about it, things weren't as bad as they seemed. Perhaps Vernon had even done him a favour. It wasn't as though the dark posed any danger to him; after the light bulb in the cupboard had broken and Vernon had refused to replace it or indeed, let Harry go to the doctor to remove the shards of glass in his arm, he had learnt to navigate without light. If anyone attacked him he could run away. His clothing was fairly warm. He had some food on him, and he could steal some more when he ran out. Just like at the Dursleys, really.

Except out here, Harry realised, he was_ free_.

Of course, Harry wasn't really free, as he would discover when a police officer found him a few of months later and after some serious talking and record checking had dropped him off at the Dursleys, who recieved him with fake smiles and punishment on their minds. The police officer-who was an honest, decent man by the name of Rick Thomas- had tried to raise some talk of having Harry moved to another family and having the Dursleys charged with negligence, but _somehow_, he mysteriously forgot about that idea once he had left the Dursley residence.

But for now….Harry stood up and walked down the street, searching for a place to sleep that night. As he passed a clammy alleyway, he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Shrinking into the protection of a nearby trashcan, he saw a cloaked figure walk nonchalantly to an old beaten door. The figure traced something on the door and Harry heard the figure mutter something, but even Harry's sharp ears couldn't distinguish the words. The figure quickly stepped back, and as Harry crept out to get a better look, fell through a hole in the other wall. The hole was rapidly closing, and Harry measured his options. Jump in the hole, or don't jump in the hole.

Harry had well learnt the lessons of his past. He had learnt that it was better to be stronger than _weaker_. He learnt that knowledge was power- that it gave you _control_. But he also knew that sometimes, when strength meant nothing and control didn't matter, things were thrown to chance, and that chance would decide whether you survived or not.

Naturally, he chose to jump in the hole.

**AN: I will love you all forever if you review**_**."flutters eyelashes"**_


	7. Chapter 7:Septime

**Denizen of the Dogwatch**

A/N: I moved the rating up to 'M' just for this chapter as I think the language exceeds the boundaries set for 'T'. Bother.

**Chapter Seven: Septime**

Surrounded. He was completely surrounded. There was no way out-going up, down sideways and certainly not by translocation. He was very effectively trapped. And the worst thing about this blasted situation was…his captors? They meant _well_.

Fucking. Hell.

He turned to left-hand bodyguard as he had dubbed her. "Hey Hermione, do you think we could-"

"No, Harry," she said without looking at him. Harry sighed. The same response for the past five minutes as he had badgered her. Time work against the weakest link then.

"Ron-?" he began to right-hand bodyguard.

"Nup," Ron cut him off, somewhat cheerfully. Harry growled in annoyance. Traitors. Guess who was gonna get flobberworms in their underwear tonight?

Striding through Diagon Alley, encircled and protected by this bevy of Order members, like some fucking self righteous king from the goddam past, Harry was irritated by all the attention he was getting. He absolutely hated attention, unless it was on his terms. He knew that if people stared long enough, they would soon pick up on certain things about him that had to be kept secret. Thank god for his scar, he thought as he casually flicked his head so that people could catch a glimpse of it. It kept people concentrated on it rather than _him._

He slouched a bit more, bending his knees slightly. He stuck out his lower lip and shoved his hands in his pockets. Posture, expression, attitude. The key points for a good disguise. Who needs a _glamourie_ when you've got the good old muggle acting? Good that the order members passed off the dark smudges under his eyes as shadows of teenage sulking. Better that his friends had decided that he wore his black blazer over his white tee- even in the summer heat- because of some weird muggle fashion and certainly not to conceal the fresh cuts and bruises on his arms.

Harry had been busy the past several nights.

The black blazer was a new acquisition actually, snagged off an arrogant, uppity man as Harry was on his way to one of his night time jaunts. With his disdainful glances at 'street trash' and flashing his money around like that-he was just waiting to be knifed. What an ass! Shay had done him a favour really, accosting him and stealing his jacket, before someone slit his weasand for two bob. The tit sucker had lost his swagger and ran home calling for mummy but at least he was alive. And the blazer was very nice, breast pockets and everything. Good practice too, he had managed to steal and return the man's watch and ring three times without him noticing. He took them a fourth time and had later thrown them to a crippled beggar, skin sore and eyes blinded as he prowled the over hanging roof above. Beggars knew better than to show recognition of their benefactors and Shay, rolling in galleons, didn't need the gold.

The roof was an excellent vantage point actually, though you had to stay flat of your belly and watch for sharp bends in the corrugated iron. More than once he had nicked himself and had to quickly detoxify his blood with a potion before lockjaw bit him on the…jaw. On the street below, he saw a group of ridiculously dressed young wizards about his age, mincing in half calf pointed boots and capes, out for a night out with the call girls, or perhaps with the call boys, Shay had noted, as he eyed some of the gayer, more outrageous costumes. He had just completed another job for the Boss, one of many which had kept him busy when all was silent and asleep in Grimmauld place. Slowly, gradually, he had earned the Boss's esteem with each job he completed neatly and well. Shay had noticed that the galleons tricking in to his vault had increased to a steady flow.

That was a few days ago and few days from now…he would be back in the warm, loving, _trapping_, embrace of Hogwarts. Shay Devada would disappear from the scopes once again. The Boss would probably think he had "got'n hisself piked" as some would say. That was alright. The Boss had been able to employ Devada's neat touch in certain assignments and Shay had received gold and a little information that could prove handy later. All in the workings of _**the plan**_, of course.(1)

Harry wearily picked at a slight tear in his tee. Bodyguard Hermione and Bodyguard Ron did not make for good company. He allowed them to herd him into Flourish and Blotts, where Hermione was quick to greet her favourite bookshelves, dragging a reluctant Ron with her. Left standing there, Harry idly glanced out of the window. Catching the edge of the official entrance to Knockturn Alley, Harry sighed unhappily. He would sorely miss his nightly freedom, the escapades shared with his fellow denizens, the satisfaction to be had at completing dark missions. Harry quickly bought all of his school books and under the pretence of reading one in a chair provided by the store, he slipped into the memory of last night.

* * *

Shay jumped from a window in an old apothecary, another entrance into his beloved world of dark intrigue. He neatly landed on the ground, his gilded, dragonhide boots making no sound. This was his last night here and by Merlin's cock he was going to enjoy it! He strolled on to the main street, and the voices of hawkers, tinkers and vendors quickly assaulted his ears, calling out the cheap prices of their merchandise.

Shay passed a baker's stall, and swiped a few chocolate éclairs, chucking a couple of sickles on the table. He bit into one of them, relishing the beautifully smooth _delicioussssnesss_ that sweetly glided down his tongue and slid into his throat. **Chocolate** Perhaps not the most effective form of sustenance…but damn it tasted good! He absently kicked away a dwarf whose hands wondered too close to Shay's pockets.

A few minutes down the pathways saw a different hand snaking it's way across Shay's torso, stroking his muscles skilfully through his thin tee and igniting pleasant sensations. Shay grinned. This was a girl- high price, no doubt -who knew her business. Too bad he wasn't interested in that tonight.

"Hey there," he murmured, smiling down at her. His eyebrows flicked up appreciatively. Huge, delicately shaped violet eyes, pink bow mouth, long black hair, firm breasts and shapely legs. She was flawless. She gave him a smouldering look and pressed herself against him.

"Care for some company?" Her hand subtly brushed against his crotch. Shay would be lying if he said he wasn't aroused. She gazed entrancingly into his eyes. Seeing his lack of lust she pouted and withdrew slightly.

"You're not interested, are you?" she murmured, disappointment in her eyes. Shay understood. Romping with a young handsome body was always preferable to having to fuck an old ugly one, and Shay would be overly modest if he claimed he wasn't good looking. After all, his father, who Shay was supposed to be a carbon copy of, had -by all accounts- been ever popular with the girls, and his mother was said to have been exquisitely beautiful.

"Sorry, little sister," Shay said ruefully, "I have other business tonight."

"Such a shame though…" Shay noticed with amusement that she had yet to disentangle herself from him. "I would have enjoyed you."

"And I you," Shay agreed. "Tell me-"

"Zuuria"

"Beautiful name. Zuuria. Do you like chocolate?"

"Oh yes."

"Have one, then." Shay slid a melting éclair into her mouth. He smiled as her tongue sinuously licked his fingers clean. Pulling them away, he leaned down and kissed her, tasting the last of the chocolate on her lips. They both pulled away reluctantly, slightly dazed. A rude voice broke the moment.

"Is he not willing, my little slut? Why don't you get your sweet self over here and I'll pump you til you scream." A grimy unshaven man with crude leather clothing leered at her.

Eyes flashing, Zuuria sharply retorted, "You couldn't pump me with a ten foot stick, let alone with your non existent dick, you sorry excuse for what ran down your mother's legs."

The surrounding denizens hooted and jeered.

"Oh no, Zuuria, not non existent!" A witch with blood red fingernails called. "_Little_ Dakus there," she made an obscene gesture at the grimy man's crotch, "likes to play himself in the notch of a tree!" Feet were stamped with appreciation. Merchants swiftly packed up their decadent goods, sensing the crowd's volatile mood. Food vendors edged closer, eager to take advantage of the crowd's appetite as the denizens thronged around, sensing entertainment to be had. A old werewolf howled, calling the mob's attention. " A notch of a tree? I've heard that Dakus, "the wolf grinned at the man maliciously, "casts engorgement charms just to fit in!"

"hOoh! hOoh! hOoh!" the mob bayed. Their leering faces were all at once beautiful and garish in the lantern light, robes, dresses, clothes fluttering eerily. Shadows made jagged shapes across the circle formed.

Dakus roared, glaring ferociously at the witch, then at the werewolf. They both smirked at him, taunting him. He'd forgotten Zuuria, whose rounded ass he'd been admiring through her skimpy tunic. He was too busy eying his two opponents. Insults had been thrown at him. He should retaliate. Yet, the small, cunning part of him that showed through his rat-like features reminded him that the full moon approached, that the witch Morven was no airhead whore.

He had waited too long. Bloodlust pulsed through the mob, they wanted a fight! A few shifted behind him and thrust him, stumbling, into the circle. The choice was no longer his and by way of mob rule, never had been. The werewolf leaped at Dakus as he tried to stand, his hairy finger seemingly sprouting claws as they bit into Dakus. The savage gleam in his yellow eyes denoted something personal, a settling of old scores perhaps. Blood sprayed onto the rough stones. More would join it.

Shay watched all of this with a detached amusement. He was used to such spectacles. He flicked his eyes down to see how his beautiful companion was taking it. Zuuria seemed a bit pale, thought it could have just been the light. Well, she was young…younger than him, anyway. Remembering he had yet to visit his 'aunts', amoung others, he lightly touch her cheek with his lips, then melted away into the crowd, leaving her to look around. She touched her cheek and felt a sliver of chocolate. Hmmm…

* * *

"You can stop pretending to read now, Harry, we're going," Hermione shook his shoulder, jerking him out of his world. Harry looked up.

"What says I was pretending?" Harry shot back.

"You were reading?" Hermione faked surprise. Harry smiled cockily, confident that he would win this round. It was a game they played where he would lie, they both knew he was lying and she would try to catch him out. She would normally quiz him on the facts in the chapter or even ask him what the title was which, embarrassingly enough, _had_ caught him out a few times.

"Okay then," she began, "What's this book about?"

A few minutes later and she was running out of questions. She caught the evil gleam in her almost brother's eye and ground her teeth. He had read the book before!

Ron had watched the two wrangle. As they both paused, trying to keep track of each other, Ron pointed out amusedly, "You weren't turning the pages, mate." Harry and Hermione looked at him with surprise, and then Hermione began to laugh. She slid one arm through Ron's and used the other to point at Harry. "He got us there!" she exclaimed, blushing.

"He got us good," Harry agreed with a smirk as he noted the red pigment scrawling itself over Ron's cheekbones. He'd always reckoned his best mate was sweet on his almost sister.

A few shops later and Harry was quiet. Something wasn't right. He looked around. There were more people around now as it was getting later in the day. Perhaps that was it. Though, he never took himself to be _that_ annoyed at crowds. He saw a mother pass by with her toddler son airborne next to her on a kiddie broomstick. He saw an old man walking out of the apothecary, clutching his jar of eyeballs. Heightening his ears would be no use in this crowd but maybe just a bit… before he could, he saw tell tale flash of coloured light.For a moment, all was silent as the crowd saw a green light hit a teenage girl, saw her fall to the ground. Then the screaming pandemonium began.

Harry swore as he narrowly avoided the concurrent beams from several wands. His eyes darted around. Several of his bodyguards were up and duelling but they steadily fell as the greater numbers of the Death Eaters overpowered them. He narrowed his eyes. If he fought now, he might risk showing his hand but if he didn't, worse could happen. There were so many of them!

He saw two Death Eaters gleefully dragging a whimpering Hermione away. The right side of her face was slightly purple with new bruises, and she had a nasty cut to her chest. Right! That settled it! To hell with the consequences!

Remus, panting slightly with exertion, caught the furious look on Harry's face. "No Harry!" he half yelled, "get back! Get Ron and Hermione and floo home! Get-Protego!" He shielded himself from the cutting curse.

Harry paid him no heed. He rushed toward Hermione, spewing agonising curses from his wand at those who were in his way.

"No!" one Death Eater yelled at the others as they sought to destroy their enemies-the order members. "The boy! Get the boy!" Harry sucked his breath in. This was no raiding party, Voldemort wanted _him_, no doubt furious at his escape at the Dursleys. Meters away, Ron shrieked as his arm was smashed by a stray curse. Harry saw him be caught by his older brother Bill, and saw them apparate out. Ron was safe. But Hermione...

Knifing a Death Eater in his way, Harry moaned as he saw that they had almost dragged her to the apparition point. Desperate, he used a few of the fallen bodies as his steps and leaped. He seemed to move through the air so slowly, painfully, the wind grabbing at his cloths and pushing him back. Landing in front of them, fracturing his foot, he pulled Hermione away from them.

He was just in time, and a little too late.

The Death Eater had already initiated the apparition. He had lost contact with the girl, but he was triumphant as he grabbed the boy. His master would shower him with rewards beyond his widest dreams…!

Harry was hit with nausea as he felt a rush sweep through his muscles, turning his bones to jelly. He fought the sickness in his gut as he saw the dark out lines of what appeared to be a chamber and grimaced as he caught the whiff of dungeon. A sudden fear shot through him.

No! He could _not_ be trapped!

In the winking of one second and the next, his magic silently roared. The Death Eater's grip slipped. His body exulted as he dissolved away from the hated place of chains and bars. Harry was surrounded once again but with what? It sung a melody to beautiful to bear…. Infinity beyond colour rushed around him-he was lost-but he did not care…nothing mattered...never and ever…

* * *

...hermione! Hermione!-

-the voice was urgent, but the hands were gentle, touching softly on her face-

-Hermione!-

…the soft blur under her half opening eyes solidified.

"Ron," she tried to say, but a croak issued from her throat. She coughed. She tried to get up and found she could barely move. Her chest screeched in pain. She groaned, unable to scream.

A cool liquid splashed her dry lips. She opened them, allowing this small, beautiful stream of life to wash away the burning in her mouth. Moments later she could talk and listen. Moments after that she wished she couldn't.

They had all returned here safe, if not intact, all except one.

"How…long?" She spoke as though she hadn't spoken in years. Her mind shrieked deliriously _perhaps she hadn't for all she was feeling!_ She held back her tears, though her eyes were water-bright, demanding.

"A few days," Ron said softly. His words were stiff. Hermione widened her eyes and saw, that those days had not treated him well. There was a large scar across his chin, and his left arm was in a sling. His face was pallid and his hair was unkempt. His eyes were dull.

"Ron." She said softly. It was just the two of them in the room he shared Harry. She sought to comfort him but he looked away, gazing out the open window. She had enough to deal with, let alone his fears. He knew how close she and Harry were. Like brother and sister. The moon certainly was bright tonight, save for a black shape that grew bigger and bigger.

"Wait, is that…Hedwig?" Ron exclaimed, leaping from Hermione's bed to run to and lean out the window, heedless of the pain shooting through his broken arm at the sudden movement. Hermione stared out the window with a sudden hope which died as soon as it came. Distracting herself from 'what if's' she saw the wind catch at Ron's hair. Dyed by the night, it was deep, dark red. He spun around.

"She's got a message!" he yelled excitedly, his face taut with anticipation.

"Ron..." Hermione whispered achingly, "don't get your hopes up. We don't know if Harry is even-" she broke of, coughing painfully. She swallowed and continued. "We don't know if that's from him. She watched as Ron took the folded paper from Hedwig. The snowy owl flew silently to her perch in the room and folded her wings and head. _Was she, too, grieving for Harry_, Hermione morbidly thought.

"Well," Ron said, "I think he's alive." He showed her the intricate design drawn where the two ends of the paper met in a fold. Harry never liked putting his signature at the end of letters, maintaining that they were troublesome. He never deigned to elaborate. Instead, as a compromise that Hermione stop pestering him with possible forgeries and 'what if this happens' like that, Harry designed a sigillum to go where the paper was folded together. It was a complicated knot, with little bumps in the centre that Harry had claimed meant his initials in some language which he and Hermione had referred to as 'Braille'.

Harry had taught Ron (Hermione needed no such teaching. Like most things, she already knew, Ron thought fondly) to lightly touch the bumps, and recognise the order which they were put in. (H three dots in an 'L' P four dots in a flipped "L', Ron remembered.)

After he had finished his final draft of his sigillum, Harry had knelt in front of Hermione and presented it to her with a mocking reverence, saying with a voice dripping with false servility, "I hope this pleases your ladyship." Hermione had examined it with a disdainful air (she had later told Harry that she was very impressed) and said in an affected voice. "It will do." The three had glanced at each other with barely concealed mirth and simultaneously exploded with laughter.

Yeah, they'd laughed about it then, never imagining that one day they would actually need it.

Hermione looked up.

"Let me see!" Hermione held out a bruised hand. Shakily she touched that sigillum, letting out a tear of relief as she authenticated the letter. The relief vanished as she remembered that they did not know the contents of the letter and quickly struggled to unfold the letter. Dread filled her heart even as she prayed for good news. Flicking her eyes over the letter, she started with surprise then huffed with exasperation.

Worried that her wound was affecting her, Ron darted to her side. "What's wrong?" he asked.

A glimmer of the old Hermione stared back at him. "_Harry_." She said with a tone that spoke long sufferance. The she started to mutter under her breath, "…makes us scared…then has the gall to…smug little…doesn't tell us if he's safe…or anything at all"

Ron looked at the letter and smiled sadly. He knew her annoyance at Harry was a mere disguise for the worry she felt. He knew better than to take her at face value.

_HG and RW_

_I'll see you guys at school_

_HP_

"I think he's safe," Ron offered.

"Safe?" Hermione snorted derisively, the very picture irritation, "Just wait til I get my hands on him at school…"

But her hands fidgeted and her brow creased.

_**Where was Harry?**_

* * *

(1) The plan was vaguely mentioned before and again now. It will just continue to be mentioned in passing until events start coming together. They'll be at Hogwarts next chapter. Finally! 


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